Hans continued east, and I looked
toward the north, as I recalled the location of Mandelbrot's. An
unusually 'narrow' street showed to the left, and when Hans made to
turn, he stopped and pointed to the south before speaking. A
somewhat wider street showed there.

“Look there,” he said. “That
over there is the Swartsburg.”

I looked, and saw what looked to be a
solid black location, one where everything was indeed black. The
houses, the vehicles – coaches mostly, though wagons and buggies
were present also – the people, and the road proper: all of it was
black. I could almost see in the distance a huge Public House, one
that dwarfed the one on Kokenstraat.

“It lives up to its name, I guess,”
I said.

“Yes, and I would just as soon it go
where it belongs, too,” said Hans. “At least these people up
this way are honest enough, so we should have little to worry about.”

The shops to each side of the road
were much as those at home, and the common-seeming cobbles seemed
lifted from the area near the crow's foot. I briefly turned to the
east, and saw that the town continued for easily another few hundred
yards.

“What's east of Grussmaan's?” I
asked.

“That is like the area just west of
that place,” said Hans, “at least, for the most part. The
further one stays from the Swartsburg, the better, as long as one
avoids the bad places.”

“That one Public House?” I asked.

“There is another a bit west and
north of here,” said Hans, “and then another at the northeast
edge of the house, and then a few bad shops here and there. Other
than those places, as long as one stays north of the Oestwaag, and
west of Kokenstraat, then one has little to worry about during the
daytime.”

“And at night?” I asked.

“I doubt there is any place in the
house that is safe then,” said Hans.

Mandelbrot's had a carved wooden post
with their name fronting on the street, and once tied up in their
yard, I went inside with Hans. The interior reminded me of the first
jeweler's shop I had been in here for layout – it was about half
again as large for dimensions – and after speaking with a slender
young woman wearing a smock, I was directed to a scale on the left
next to a covered bin and scoop.

“That is where they weigh the
stuff,” said Hans.

“H-how much?” I murmured.

“Twenty guilders the pound,” she
said. “Or were you thinking about how much you needed?”

“That especially,” I said. “I
might well wish to get what I can.”

“Yes, I think so,” said Hans. “I
have heard about some things you cast using silver.”

I laid down three 'gold monster
coins', and as the woman put gleaming silver blobs in the scale's
pan, I marveled at their soft luster. I was nearly hypnotized, so
much so that only when the blobs were decanted into a stout-looking
cloth bag and tied did I come to myself. I was handed the bag, said
thanks in an absentminded fashion, and left in tow of Hans. As he
drove off northward along Silberstraat, I could see he had a
question.

“Now let me guess,” said Hans.
“Is that stuff for a silver bowl?”

“I'm not certain I will have enough
left for a bowl,” I said. “This is for a necklace.”

“Necklace?” asked Hans. “Who
for?”

“I had an idea for a necklace long
ago,” I said, “one I would give to any woman that would have me.
It seems there is one now.”

Hans looked at me, then nodded.

“I just have to carve the panels for
it,” I said, “and when I will have time for them is anyone's
guess.”

“What kind of a necklace is this
thing?” asked Hans.

“It has twelve carved panels,” I
said, “each of them with special lettering on them, and each panel
is shaped such that it fits where it is to go. They all go on the
front, and are connected at their small ends, with a silver chain in
back with a clasp.”

I paused to look at the scenery. Hans
had turned to the left, and had entered a 'commercial' district, with
larger shops, huge 'yards', plentiful buggies and wagons, and a
profound aura of 'labor'. I then saw the building.

“What is that place?” I
gasped.

“That is a Mercantile like they have
down south,” said Hans. “They might not carry some of the things
those places have, but they have things that are hard to find
elsewhere up here.” Hans paused, then said, “I did some asking
about that plat-stuff you spoke of, and I think I know what it is.
They might have some of it in there.”

Hans came to a stop among a 'row' of
buggies, and as I followed him to the doubled doors of the place, I
looked around more. The 'decor' of the place was such that I felt
reminded of a hot and dry sun-bleached region, and walking inside was
much like walking into Grussmaan's.

“It might not smell in here,” I
thought, “but it isn't like the rest of town. This almost seems
like a page in another history book.”

The chief aspect of how it reminded me
of Grussmaan's, I deciphered quickly. There was a distinct aspect of
'wild west' in the proliferation and type of supplies, and as I
followed Hans down the long aisles toward the back counter, I saw the
overhead fifth kingdom candle-lanterns, the exposed roof trusses, the
iron join-plates, the 'pegged' floors, and the long weathered wood
planks of the shelves.

Near the rear area, I slowed down, for
I sensed the presence of 'food' of some kind. I looked to my right,
and was astonished to find a small mound of tied cloth bags with
painted lettering. I then picked one up and spread it flat so as to
read it.

“D-dried vegetables?” I thought.
“I had no idea they did these. What's in here?”

Hans had left me behind, and as I
hurried to catch up, I saw a small sign. I turned and read the
description – 'dried meat' – and hurried on to the
counter. Only when I came beside Hans did I notice a faint aroma
which I could barely put words to.

The smell seemed an amalgam of
dryness, dirt, bad meat, and 'corruption', and it wrinkled my nose.
Hans was wasting no time with talk, or so I thought when a clerk
showed. Hans put down one of those huge gold coins, and the clerk
handed him two pieces of silvery wire, each of them a foot long. He
then turned to go.

When we passed the dried meat again, I
noted its shape and appearance, this being grayish-brown
black-speckled elongated bricks of a grainy consistency. The smell
was now more noticeable. It stimulated my gorge adversely.

“What is that stuff?” I asked.

“That is dried goat,” said Hans.
He was not wasting time in the store, for he had finished his
business.

“D-dried goat?” I asked. “Where
does it come from?”

“That stuff is common in the fifth
kingdom,” said Hans, as he paused to look at the bricks for a
second, “and it is cheap stuff.”

“Its t-taste?” I asked.

“If I had a choice to eat bad raw
turnips, and dried goat, I would take the turnips,” said Hans, “and
the turnips with the leaves and mud still on them. They would be
better food and better tasting.”

The front door of the place 'loomed',
and I opened it. I was still stunned by the idea of something
tasting worse than raw turnips.

“Better
f-food?” I gasped. The buggy was to the left, and we headed that
way.

“Dried
goat is a recipe for sickness, no matter what is done to it for
cooking,” said Hans, “and that is even when it is boiled in three
changes of water.”

“Three
changes of water?” I asked.

“That is
when you boil it, dump the water, and then fill again with fresh,”
said Hans. “The usual is to do that three times.”

“Why
would they carry dried goat, then?” I asked.

“That
stuff is cheap down in the fifth kingdom,” said Hans as he climbed
up into the buggy seat. “Some freighter may have brought it up
from that place.”

“And the
dried vegetables?” I asked.

“With
those, that depends on where you get them,” said Hans. “The ones
in the fourth kingdom's market are decent. Those, I am not sure.”
Hans paused, then said, “dried vegetables might be better than no
vegetables, but fresh are almost always better if they can be had.”

“Gobens?”
I asked.

“Those
are better dried,” said Hans. “I am not sure what else is like
that.”

Hans turned
right a few minutes later, then continued north. The 'commercial'
aspect steadily dwindled to be replaced by a 'residential' zone,
which continued until we came to an area where it was abruptly
replaced by that 'sawmill' sound I had heard over a month prior.

“Is this
Houtlaan?” I asked.

“It is
next to it,” said Hans. “Houtlaan is the next street over.”

“Do they
saw wood there?” I asked. I wondered as to how just after I
spoke of it.

“There
are lots of pits in that place,” said Hans, “and pit-men, too.
Why, has an order for saw-blades come to the shop?”

“Smaller
ones, yes, though mostly for metal,” I said. “I've done two or
three blades for wood.”

“I would
check your orders, then,” said Hans, “as the carpenters have
spoken about their saws needing work.”

Hans took
the road heading northwest once he'd cleared the town, and as we went
into open country, I asked, “now how will I get to where I need to
go on Monday?”

“I think
you might want to walk that, unless you can get a ride,” said Hans.
“That job is one of those that has strange hours, only more so,
and the same for its days.”

“Strange?”
I asked.

“Medical
work, preaching, and guarding do not have normal weeks,” said Hans,
“and of those three, guarding is the worst for its days and hours.
You might well have to do all of the posts, as those change a fair
amount.”

“S-shift
work?” I asked.

“The
early and late posts tend to be the quietest,” said Hans, “though
talk has it the place in front of the king's office is bad for
noise.”

“Noise?”
I asked. “What kind?”

“Those
Generals have their rooms close by,” said Hans, “and they keep
hours like witches do.”

“Uh,
early morning is the quietest?”

“Ah, that
tells me why Hendrik does a lot of his important stuff then,” said
Hans. “He usually starts about the time you do.”

Home showed
shortly after lunchtime, and after bathing, I headed to the shop.
The days were now longer than I recalled them being earlier in the
year, and as I tried to figure what month it was – it was still
quite cold most of the day, there were still traces of snow here and
there, the roads were still 'sticky' for the most part, with 'splop'
quite common – I drew open the door. The others were mostly
sitting on stools near a glowing forge, with one of the apprentices
bringing in more wood. The aspect of idleness was troubling.

“The
first part's done,” I said, “so I'll be here a lot more of the
time.”

“Good,”
said Georg. “I'd just as soon not finish a day's work in an hour
or so.”

While
Georg's speech implied a favorable attitude, I was not surprised when
I was alone an hour later. I sighed, and continued working, knowing
that Monday, at the least, would be unlikely for much beyond the trip
to the house and back.

“And most
of that on foot,” I thought. “At least I should be in shape for
it.”

I stripped
the remaining muskets completely, and stamped several tin tags with
the label of 'refinish'. I then saw I would need to set up the
rifling jig again, and made notes regarding the table and the parts I
needed to set it up.

“And
ream, and hone,” I thought. “I hope the barrels clean up
readily.”

I took the
two remaining locks home that evening, as well as the new parts that
were ready for soft-fitting, and between gunlocks and the sword, I
was busy until bedtime. There had been little talk beyond the common
at the table, and as I made ready for bed, I overheard faint scraps
of speech about the morrow. I suspected I would have answers at the
table.

Morning
came early, as it usually did, and when I came down the stairs, I was
surprised to find Anna up. She was yawning a great deal, and when I
came out of the privy, I noted two wicker baskets on the table.
Their open tops spoke loudly of packing in progress.

“Are we
going somewhere?” I asked.

“Yes, to
get those roots for the red fever,” said Anna. “I'm glad we can
leave at a reasonable hour this time, as I'm tired enough to want to
sleep in the back of the buggy.”

“Uh,
closer by?” I asked.

“South of
here, and to the west,” said Anna. “We'll leave when Korn comes,
most likely.”

“Uh, more
witches?” I asked.

“I hope
not,” said Anna. “I would plan on taking that pistol that came
for a spare.”

“Two of
them?” I asked.

“I don't
much care for pistols,” said Anna, “but I care less for
witches, and given the choice, I'll take my chances with one of those
pistols.”

I had the
impression Korn would be some time in coming, and after fetching my
supplies – I took the pistol in question that Anna referred to, and
wrapped it carefully in rags – I began drilling the rivet holes in
the sword's handle portion.

I had to
carefully ream them afterward, as well as radius their sharp edges,
and when I began filing the bronze casting for the hilt, I had Anna
come to watch me work now and then. Hans was still in bed, or so I
suspected until he came in the front door from outside.

“It is
just about time for the sun to show,” he said, “and I am glad for
that oil.”

“Oil?”
I asked.

“I made
some like you did that last time,” said Hans, “and I put some in
the oil-cups just now. I think we might go longer between pulling
the wheels with that stuff.”

“That
wire you got yesterday?” I asked.

“That is
used by those who blow glass,” said Hans. “Some say freighters
use that stuff to keep their teeth clean.”

“That is
not good,” said Anna. “It cuts the fleshy parts of the mouth if
one isn't careful.”

“Do you
know when Korn will show?” I asked.

“He said
he would leave early,” said Hans, “though his early and what most
call early are two different things.”

“He
starts later?” I asked.

“He
starts about like you do,” said Hans, “though he quits at the
common time, at least for his selling. I think he might try fourth
kingdom hours for chemistry, is what I think.”

I suspected
I wanted to finish-fit the hilt after the blade was heat-treated,
hence once it was near to size, I set it aside. The sun began to
show in the window to my left as I started on the handle's wooden
pieces.

After a
short time, however, I put the wood pieces aside. I could feel Korn
in the area, and not two minutes after I'd cleaned up the shavings,
someone tapped at the door. Anna came running as if she expected our
visitor for ages.

“It's
him,” said Anna. “I think we can go now.”

While Anna
didn't sleep in the rear of the buggy – it was a bit too crowded
for sleeping, I thought – she did yawn periodically, even when we
stopped for oiling. I was surprised to see Korn ask for Hans' oil
container and then 'dose' his buggy. When we resumed, I thought to
ask about how common sleeved wheels were.

“That
depends on who does the sleeves,” said Hans. “The good ones,
which are what we have, are not common. The less-good ones, those
are more common.”

“And the
regular wheels are common,” said Anna. “Wheels with sleeves are
not common, no matter who does them.”

“Uh,
lapping them, like he did?” I asked.

“Now what
is this?” asked Hans. “Those fifth kingdom wheel sleeves are not
very good.”

“Yes, if
you don't lap the cone and then scrape the cup,” I said. “I
think he improved his some.”

“I did,”
said Korn, as he came along side of us, “and that oil makes the
usual stuff seem worthless. Is it hard to make?”

“It can
be,” said Hans, “and that is for small amounts. It needs a lot
of glassware and other things. I can show you when we get back with
those roots.”

“Hans,
don't,” said Anna. “You might have done this last batch, but you
did not come up with it.”

Korn looked
our way, then slowed slightly. I hoped he would not catch too much
'splop' while riding 'drag'.

Our second
stop had both Hans and Korn go into a Public House, while I remained
with Anna. I wondered as to the efficacy of 'asking around', but
kept my thoughts to myself. Anna, however, did not.

“I think
they are wasting their time asking,” said Anna. “You can find
those roots, can't you?”

“I...”

I wanted to
say 'no', but felt forborne for some reason. It was as if someone
was telling me to not speak of the matter. Hans then came out of the
Public House with a jug and sack.

“Did they
know anything?” asked Anna.

“No, they
didn't,” said Korn, as he came from the doorway. “The only
people that know about that type of plant seems to be those that use
them for medicine and witches.”

“Witches?”
I gasped.

“They
have no use for medicine,” said Korn. “I've heard of them
killing medicinal plants.”

Anna looked
at me again, then whispered, “that dream was right.”

“Do they
try to sell poison as medicine?” I asked.

“I'm not
sure what they do that way,” said Korn. “I do know they have no
use for medicine.”

“Is that
their behavior, or their talk?” I asked.

“I think
that is their talk,” said Hans, “as they do some things if they
are sick enough. They like to hide what they do that way, though.”

“Hence
they must appear to be well, no matter how sick they actually
are,” I said. “They must maintain the illusion of health,
both to themselves and to others.”

“What is
this word?” asked Hans.

“Illusion,”
I said. “They think themselves healthy, and believe such thinking
keeps them that way – that and the other things they do in the way
of witches.”

“What are
those?” asked Hans.

“I'm not
terribly sure,” I said. “Perhaps there are certain curses that
provide health.”

As I said
this, however, I knew my guess was certain to be wrong. Witches
believed they chose to be healthy, just as they chose
everything in life, and that choice alone kept them
that way.

“Bad
food, paint-remover for drink, no bathing?” I gasped. “Is that
choosing health?”

The illogic
of witch behavior was enough to cause reaching for the vial of
fever-tree powder I had in my bag, and I grimaced as I put a pinch of
the bitter-tasting stuff in my mouth. I followed it with a mug of
cider, and as I did so, Anna turned and looked at me.

“What was
this you said about bad food?” she asked.

“Witches
believe that none of that stuff matters,” I said, “as they
'choose' to be healthy, or 'choose' to be sick.” I paused, then
said, “rather, they believe none of it affects their physical
health. They think it has an effect in the spirit world, which is
why they do much of what they do.”

“And what
you just did?” asked Anna.

“Trying
to think that way is a quick recipe for a bad headache,” I said.
“I cannot understand how anyone could believe that rubbish.”

The way
Anna then looked at me seemed to indicate she understood, but on a
deeper level, I seriously doubted as to her understanding.

“She
thinks I'm saying that out of 'moral outrage',” I thought, “and
it isn't that, even if the ideas behind it are loathsome and
vile. I might not be visually blind, nor stupid for what I usually
do, but when it comes to that way of thinking, I'm deaf, dumb – er,
stupid – and blind.”

The
recollection of how I was to social matters intruded, and the
near-equivalence of the two 'realities' made for shuddering. I was
deaf, stupid, and blind to those matters as well.

Our path
took us through another town, where again both Hans and Korn went
into the Public House. They did not tarry this time, and when Hans
got back in the buggy and left right away, Anna said, “now what?”

“That
place had a black-dressed witch in it,” said Hans, “and I think
he owned the place.”

“Why?”
asked Anna.

“It was
like that place on Kokenstraat,” said Hans, “and I saw squabs
hanging ready to drop, and bad meat, and these smelly yellow and
green messes witches like, and...”

Anna shook
her head, then said, “did that witch have people in there?”

“Yes,
three of them, and all of them dressed like misers,” said Hans.
“This might be one of those bad towns.”

“It
wasn't like this when you last came here, wasn't it?” I asked, as I
watched the doors of the shops to my right.

“No, it
wasn't,” said Hans. “I hope you can find those roots, as they
are supposed to be somewhere around here.”

“Supposed
to be?” I squeaked. “Is this more rumor or hearsay masquerading
as book-truth?”

“We've
gathered them around here before,” said Anna, “though the plant
that has them tends to not stay put like those trees do.”

“Uh,
gathering the roots kills the plants?” I asked.

“We only
dig some of them,” said Anna, “and we plant some of what we dig
nearby.”

“That
doesn't help,” I spluttered. “That plant is a b-biennial,
and the roots are far too fragile to be propagated that way.”

Anna looked
at me, then said, “what does that mean?”

“It
doesn't grow from cuttings like you've done in the past,” I
said, “and those roots you transplant almost always die. You would
be better off keeping them and using them for medicine.”

“But how
will the plant continue?” asked Anna.

“You
would need to gather its seed,” I said, “and that would need
people staying by the plants and harvesting the seed-pods just before
they burst open. People don't do that, do they?”

The silence
that resulted seemed to rumble like a massive earthquake, and only
when a door opened to my right on the south edge of town did I jerk
my attention away from the 'response' of the others. I felt for my
revolver as I looked again at the doorway.

A tall and
somewhat emaciated 'miser' with a fowling piece was standing on the
stoop of a dark brown house of uncommon size, and his drunken
'weaving' spoke of profound intoxication. His pallid face was
contorted into a grimace of red-wreathed rage, and when he lifted up
his head, his reaction was to shoulder his weapon and aim it at us.
I cocked the hammer and fired just before diving for the bed of the
buggy.

The crack
of the revolver was joined by two booming roars, and the swarming
rush of hot lead over the buggy's bed was all the answer I could hope
for. I peered up from where I had taken shelter to see the man
laying face-down on his stoop with a still-smoking weapon some
distance away.

“Are you
all right?” shrieked Anna.

“I
th-think so,” I said. “I hope he didn't hit you.”

“He was
not aiming at the two of you,” said Korn as he came alongside. “He
only had eyes for your passenger.”

“How
could you tell?” asked Hans.

“I saw
his reaction,” said Korn. “I've watched those people up the road
from me, and when they're that drunk, they usually don't
go outside.”

“Usually?”
I asked.

“There
are a handful of people that seem to draw them out like that,” said
Korn. “Esther's one of them, another is this short dark-haired
woman, and perhaps two others I've seen. When they come out pickled
with loaded guns, they only understand one thing.”

“What?”
I asked.

“The
answer you gave that witch,” said Korn. “You made a third
eyehole in his head, right between the first two, and he's as dead as
a corpse-box.”

I turned to
look back at the dead witch, and saw faint vaporous trickles of what
might have been smoke coming off of his body. I wondered if I were
seeing something physical or otherwise, so much so that I murmured,
“sup with Brimstone, witch.” The 'fumes' continued unabated in
their ignorance of my speech.

“That is
good, then,” said Hans. “Now where are these roots?”

“Uh, a
woodlot about a mile from here,” I said. “Down this road until
it meets another crossing it at an acute angle, turn left there, go
until you come to the nearest woodlot, go to its far edge, and follow
around on the right for about three hundred paces. The plants have
red stems, small dark green spiky leaves, and long reddish-gray
knotted roots about as big around as my smallest finger, and they're
but a short distance inside the trees.”

“Those...”
Anna turned to me with a face writ large with surprise. She found
her voice a few seconds later, and squeaked, “those are the best
type!”

“Do they
work better?” I asked.

“I wish
the tincture from those things kept better,” said Hans, “as those
from that year worked better than any I have heard of. Only a few
people died from that sickness while we had those.”

“Uh, does
it work for just that sickness?” I asked. I could see the
crossroads up ahead.

“We use
it for that one,” said Hans. “Why, are there other things?”

“It's
usually too scarce to use it for anything else,” said Anna.

“Perhaps
your extraction process was wasteful,” I said. “Use an extractor
with well-filtered aquavit and a small amount of, uh, salaterus, and
a little oil of vitriol in the solution when it comes out...”

“That
will ruin it,” said Hans. “I have always used vinegar.”

“No, this
stuff is... Quinine?” I gasped. “R-red f-fever?
Malaria?”

“Now what
is your trouble?” asked Hans. “You need to speak things I can
understand.”

“Quinine
sulfate,” I said. “Acetic acid ruins the drug.
You need to use a dilute solution of sulfuric acid, perhaps a few
drops at a time until it changes color after the extraction. You
then evaporate on the sand-bath and pull out the crystals, which will
keep for years if treated right.”

I paused,
then asked, “are there small flying bugs that are especially
noisy?”

“Those
are bad down south,” said Hans. “I am glad they are not common
up here.”

“Most of
the time, Hans,” said Anna. “They tend to be worst when that
sickness shows during the warmest times of the year.”

“They
cause that sickness,” I said. “There was a disease where
I came from called malaria, and it was carried by small flying
insects called mosquitoes. They tended to make high-pitched noises
when they flew.”

“That
sounds about right for those things,” said Anna. “Now what is
this about ruining that tincture?”

“It's
best not given as a tincture,” I said, “as it keeps poorly
in solution.”

“Then how
do we give it?” asked Anna.

“Mix it
with sugar-tree sap just before giving by mouth,” I said. “You
want one unit on that scale four times a day, bed rest, beer as the
person can stand it, wiping with Geneva, and fever-tree bark for the
aches and pains.”

I paused,
then said, “why is it called 'red fever', when the person's skin is
usually yellowish?”

“They
make the privy red when they go,” said Hans, “and they tend to
bleed some otherwise. I have seen them turn red for their skin more
than once.”

“In the
past it caused much worse bleeding, and the skin was commonly
red as blood,” said Korn. “That disease tended to kill far more
often than it usually does today, both for numbers and percentage.”

“When in
the past?” I asked.

“The name
of that illness is mentioned in several old tales,” said Korn, “and
during the time of that war long ago, it was very common.
What is called 'red fever' today is a faint shadow of the sickness it
once was.”

The 'acute
angle' was just ahead, and Hans paused at it. He seemed completely
at a loss, and only with Anna first questioning me - “turn left
here,” I said – and then goosing him in the ribs did he turn in
the correct direction. I suspected hearing about the worthlessness
of what he had been doing had something to do with his 'inertia'.
Somehow, I wondered if that was indeed the case.

“Where
did you learn about that means of preparation?” I asked.

“That was
in my journals,” said Anna, “along with most of what we do for
medicines.”

“And
before it was written down?” I asked. “As in vinegar was
available?”

“Yes, and
it is a lot cheaper, too,” said Hans.

“Is that
why you use it?” I asked. “I thought you said... Is this
because that recipe was written down, and it was simpler to just
follow it unthinkingly, or is this for some other reason?”

Again, the
silence was telling, and I wondered as to what I had said. I
suspected I was 'onto' something, and only when we came to the near
edge of the woodlot did anyone speak.

“I hope
there aren't witches coming,” said Anna.

“I think
we had best harvest as much as we can, then,” I said. “I suspect
they will be coming when that miser's death gets noticed – if it
hasn't been noticed already.” I paused, then said, “and they
won't need to go to the Swartsburg this time.”

Hans shook
himself, then said, “I think I fell asleep in that Public House.
There was this black-dressed witch in there, and these misers,
and...”

“And they
were chanting curses of some kind, correct?” I asked. “That
place might not have been done up to look like a witch-hole,
but it was close enough to cause trouble.”

I paused,
then said, more to myself than anyone, “and I had best prepare an
ambush on this side of the road.”

“How?”
asked Anna. “We...”

“You go
on ahead,” I said. “They're coming right now.”

I gathered
my supplies, then stepped out of the near-stationary buggy and went
for the nearest trees, where I took up a position just inside. I
laid out my supplies, then checked the revolver I had wrapped up. I
was more than a little astonished to see it capped.

“Did I
load this thing?” I thought, as I heard the rattle of
harness and what might have been the bray of a mule.

I was
astonished to see Anna running toward me, and I waved her off. She
ignored all else, and when she came to my side, I expected to hear
her scream as if I were abandoning her to the witches. I was more
than a little surprised when she actually spoke.

“Where do
we go?” she asked.

“Go to
the other side of the woodlot,” I said calmly, “turn to the
right, and stick to the edge of the trees. Dismount like I did for
the bark and lead the horses, and go about three hundred paces and
start looking for those plants. I'll join you once I deal with the
witches.”

I paused,
then said, “besides, they want me dead. They'll ignore you
and what you're doing as long as they know I'm alive. Get that
medicine, as it's important.”

Anna seemed
loathe to leave me, but she did a few seconds later. I glanced to my
right to see the three of them arguing among themselves. Neither
buggy was moving.

“Go on,”
I yelled. “They're using you...”

I stopped
in mid-sentence, for what I was about to say was beyond belief, and I
could not speak that which was 'untrue'.

“That is
closer to the truth than you know,” said the soft voice.

“What do
I do?” I asked. “Will the witches...”

Again, the
'heretical' thought proceeded. The witches wanted me dead so much
that they would torture all three of them just to 'draw me out'. I
needed to hide the others and...

“What?”
I gasped. “I need to tie them up so they aren't used like
p-puppets?”

While there
were no answers, I knew I could not remain where I was. I ran to the
buggy, tossed my stuff in the back, and grabbed the reins from Hans'
waxy hands. I began leading the horses up the road at a trot.

“Please,
follow me,” I asked, as I ran down the road. I needed to hide both
buggies carefully and then go back where I could 'fight'.

About two
hundred yards past the edge of the woodlot, I found a wide space
between the trees, and I ran in there. The buggy managed perhaps
thirty feet before it halted with such abruptness that I was nearly
pitched onto the ground. I turned back to see the front wheels
bogged halfway to the hubs and both Hans and Anna swaying slowly.
They were as clothes-dummies, with waxy pallid skin and staring
unseeing eyes. I glanced to the side and saw that the other horses
had not followed me.

I ran out
onto the road and ran back toward the still-stationary buggy of Korn.
I suspected he had been 'taken over' also, and when I came to his
side, he was in the same state as Hans. I took the reins from his
hand, and was about to lead off when the rattle of harness became
louder still and a team of mules came trotting around the turn. I
had no idea as to what to do, so much so that without thinking, I
stood by the side of the buggy.

Korn was as
silent as a dead man, and as for help, he wasn't able to provide it.
I had to protect him and deal with the witches, and the sudden
knowledge bloomed in my mind: if they killed me, they would not
stop there. They would kill the others as well, and then set fire to
the entire area so as to sacrifice us to Brimstone. We had been
recognized and cursed, as was
appropriate for blood-sources.

“Why am I
not affected?” I thought, as the mules slowed with snorts and
'roars'.

I was not
able to finish my thinking, for as the vehicle – a high-wheeled
'buggy' of sorts – came to a stop, a tall black-dressed thug
dismounted with a jerk. The driver wore the familiar dark brown
'severe' clothing of a miser, and within seconds, two more like him
had joined the black-dressed thug on the ground. All of these people
had fowling pieces at the ready, and their slow 'walk' was troubling
to watch.

For some
reason, I seemed 'rooted' to the spot, and faintly I heard what might
have been a dragging noise in the dirt. I stopped and looked closer
at the right side of the head thug.

“Is that
a sword?” I thought.

I felt my
right side, and nearly gasped. While I had put on knife-pouch and
holster this morning while getting ready, I noted that both things
were indeed present. I had thought I had removed the pistol earlier
so as to reload the fired chamber.

“Four
shots, and four thugs,” I thought, “and that doesn't
include the mules.”

The thugs
were but thirty yards off, and coming steadily closer. Their
'caution' – slow steps reminiscent of stereotypical 'gunfighters',
or so I imagined – was such that I wondered. Did they assign
special significance to their dead comrade and his wound? Was this
the savoring of the moment of vengeance, or was it something else?

I didn't
want Korn getting shot at, so I moved to the side. The trees were
but twenty feet away.

None of the
thugs expected movement of that speed, and their clumsy gun-mounting
and then firing spoke loudly amid thundering roars and billows of
smoke. I dove for the dirt just the same as the shot flew overhead,
then slid nearly to the trunk of a tree. I leaped up as the three of
them charged at a run.

The brays
of the mules seemed a background for horror, and when the chief thug
came to the edge of the forest he again mounted his gun and fired. I
jumped to the side as splinters of bark flew off of the tree he'd
shot instead of me, then as he came running toward me – he was no
longer clumsy or slow in the slightest – he dropped his gun and
drew his sword. I turned and leaped at him as the other two aimed
and fired.

The roars
of their shotguns seemed to burn around my head, and when the witch
swung his sword at me, I ducked and then grabbed his arm. I heard an
echoing click, then as I pulled the black-dressed thug down as I went
for the dirt, the bang of a revolver was followed by his thrashing
screams.

I hit the
ground first, and as the thug hit, I punched him and rolled away to
the side. Another gunshot billowed smoke over me as I touched cold
metal, then as I leaped to my feet, I found I had the thug's sword in
my hand and a pair of 'misers' staring at me but a few feet away. I
leaped to the attack as first one fired, then another. Something
ripped my sleeve, and I swung at the midriff of the nearest man.

The sword
connected with a horrible shiver that made my arm attempt to go numb,
and as I pulled the blade out of the man I had hit, the other charged
me with a dagger. I swung at him as he tried to spike me, and to my
utter surprise, I removed his arm with its dagger just above the
elbow. He ignored the strike, and tried to shoot me.

His
revolver refused to fire. I kicked him in the groin.

The miser
nearly left the ground with the force of the blow, and when he began
falling, his revolver then fired into the dirt near my feet. He
collapsed onto his pistol screaming as the black-dressed thug tried
to get to his feet.

I walked to
the head of the now-groaning head-thug and poked him in the shoulder
with his own sword. He looked up at me with a flushed reddened face
solidified into a rictus of hate, then spat, “I saw what you did,
and I curse you above those other fools.”

I said
nothing, and drew closer yet.

He stared
at the sword, and I glanced around. I had my suspicions about the
driver, and leaped for a tree just in time to avoid being backshot by
a 'cannon'.

The booming
roar sent a massive cloud of smoke-trailing shot flying my way, and
while it missed me, I could not say that for the
black-dressed thug.

He fell
heavily to the ground in a screaming fit to thrash crazily, and the
clumsy run of the driver toward him spoke of 'panic' on his part as
he drew closer.

The driver
had only eyes for his 'lord', and as he came closer to the
black-dressed thug, I moved further away. The black-dressed thug
still screamed and thrashed, and as the driver stopped by him, I
noted his weapon.

“Figures,
he has a front-loading elephant gun, and he loaded it with shot,” I
thought. “Now how do I get him?”

The
screaming thug drew something from beneath him, and as the driver
knelt down, I heard the crack of a revolver. The driver fell on his
posterior, then slowly collapsed to lay face-up with blood staining
his 'severe' clothing a frothy red color near his right shoulder.
The black dressed thug was trying to cock his pistol, and having no
luck.

I looked at
the bloodstained blade in my hand, and then knew what needed to be
done. I walked slowly toward the driver, whose eyes now seemed
shrunken and yellowed as he came to a sitting position with a
bloodstained hand on his wound, and swung at his neck. His head
leaped off as his neck fountained blood. The black-dressed thug
groaned and writhed on the ground, uncocked revolver in his thrashing
hand. I ignored him; I would kill him last, so that he could
see his end coming.

“Sup with
Brimstone, witch,” I muttered, as I swung on the next 'miser', this
being the man with a missing forearm. “Burn in hell where you
belong.”

His head
'jumped' off, and as I turned to the third miser – the one whose
guts showed red and glistening from the cut I'd made in his side –
the black-dressed thug looked at me. He held his revolver in his
wavering hand, and as he again tried to cock it, I said, “best to
put that to your own head, fool.”

To my
surprise, the witch did precisely that. As he tried to find the
strength to fully cock the hammer, I swung on the third miser.
Again, I muttered “sup with Brimstone, witch.” I then turned to
the last one.

“You
failed, fool,” I said. “Prepare yourself for the great
dragon and his hungry teeth.” I then swung the sword at his neck,
shouting as I did so, “sup with Brimstone, witch!”

The head of
the arch-witch leaped from his body, and as his corpse billowed blood
and briefly thrashed, I looked around at the 'mess'. The
blood-sodden forest floor was such that I marveled – four witches
made for a lot of blood – and as I began gathering up the
various weapons they had used, I again noted that 'fog' that I had
seen earlier was coming off of their bodies. I wondered what
it was, so much so that when I came to the edge of the road, I was
astonished to see Korn shaking his head while still seated, then
muttering. I came closer to try to hear him better. I had the
witch's blood-dripping sword still in my hand.

“Now why
do I smell mules?” he said, as he shook his head. He then looked
at me.

“How did
you get hurt?” he asked. I was surprised he hadn't seen the sword.

“There
were four witches that came after us,” I said as I came to his
side, “and I had to deal with them.”

“But you
got hurt doing it,” he said.

“Where?”
I asked.

Korn
pointed to my arm, then felt the rip when I held it up. He brought
away his finger, and shook his head at the sight.

“No
blood?” I asked.

Again, he
shook his head. He looked ahead, saw the tracks of the other buggy,
then asked, “now where did they go?”

“I had to
hide them,” I said, “and I was going to hide you up the road with
them, but the witches came.” I paused, then said, “follow those
tracks with your buggy, and see about helping them.”

While Korn
did so, I had the suspicion there would be another argument, and
within moments, I could hear another three-way brawl. I was
collecting the weapons of the witches, as three fowling pieces and a
roer sounded distinctly useful, and I knew about the
revolvers. I had my misgivings about the sword.

“More
Hieronymus-grade guns,” I thought, as I gathered the pistols. “No
wonder they misfired like that.”

I had a
full load of weapons in my arms when I picked up the last pistol, and
when I laid them by the side of the road near where I had had my
fight with the witches, I still heard the brawl. I left the guns
where they lay and ran up the road to where I had 'parked' the buggy
of Hans and Anna.

The
argument was in full swing, with Korn's buggy blocking the way. It
was mired also, with the front driver's wheel nearly halfway to the
hub. I came into the 'mess', then said quietly, “cease with the
argument.”

“What are
you doing here?” screamed Anna. “We were...”

“You were
all cursed,” I said, “and this argument is part of its
outworking.” I turned, then said, “Korn, unhitch those horses,
and tie them up to a tree.”

“Why?”
he asked.

“Your
buggy is mired,” I said. “You came in here slowly and steered
directly into a soft spot, almost as if you had planned to do so.”

I paused,
then said, “I really need to deal with both those witches and their
places. Those curses are bad.”

As if to
remind me of just how bad they actually were, Anna shook herself,
then said, “what am I doing?”

“Causing
trouble,” I said. “Now help Korn unhitch his horses, and hold
them off to the side.”

Within
seconds, I found that not only had Anna become 'sulky', but Hans and
Korn had become 'stupid'. I recalled what had happened with my
'clothing' during my first day of guard training, and after sitting
the three of them down on a fallen log, I began 'looking' for
something amiss.

“This is
like that dagger,” I thought. “Something is hiding, and it's
causing trouble – and somehow, this thing is worse
than that dagger was for trouble.”

As I began
carefully searching he area, however, I had the intimation that the
'object' in question wasn't nearly as strong or capable as the dagger
had been. The greater 'control' was another matter entirely, and as
I continued looking, I had the feeling that I was being watched.
Someone was being very tricky, and when I turned from Korn to
look at Anna, I saw Hans attempt to hide a small 'coin'. I leaped to
where he was, grabbed the thing in a hideously 'rude' fashion, and
yelled 'leave' as I tossed it away.

The thing
vanished with a flash and thump, and as I came out of the
putrid-smelling smoke that billowed around me, the others were
knuckling their eyes and yawning.

“Now can
we get on with the business at hand,” I muttered testily.

“Yes, and
what is that?” asked Hans.

“First,
you need to tell me what that thing was you took,” I said. “It
was laying on a table, and you picked up this strange-looking coin.”
I paused, then said, “not only was it not a coin, but it
gave those curses a great deal of power over all of us, and...”

I gasped,
then said, “was that why those witches came after us?”

“That
tipped them off sooner than otherwise,” said the soft voice. “The
arch-witch noticed his 'medal' was gone but minutes after you shot
that first witch. They saw the body as they left town.”

“Hans,
why did you steal that thing?” shrieked Anna. “Why?”

“Because
I wanted it,” said Hans. His voice reeked of the surety that came
with oblivion.

“No, that
wasn't it,” I said. “It wasn't nearly that simple. There
was something that made it especially attractive, so much so
that to see that thing was like putting a big stack of gold monster
coins in front of a miser.” I paused, then said, “did that witch
speak to you directly?”

“Not that
I know of,” said Hans. “I saw this special thing there and I
wanted it bad.”

“Did that
witch speak something special?” I asked.

“He did,”
said Korn, “though I had never heard it before. I think it was a
curse of some kind, as I've heard things like it.”

“And the
witch was pointing with his finger at Hans, correct?” I asked. “Or
was it too dark to see well in that place?”

“He was
doing as you say,” said Korn, “and I think I might know what he
said.”

“Yes?”
I asked. “What does Hans want bad enough to scheme for?”

“I doubt
it is that,” said Hans, “as those things just take money, and...”

“Did that
thing you grabbed look like a big sack of gold monster coins?”
I asked. “Did that witch tell you they were yours and you deserved
what you wanted, because you had worked for it?”

To my
complete surprise, Hans nodded yes, then said, “I thought they were
mine, so I took them.”

“And you
took a really bad goat-head medal instead of a sack of gold
monster coins,” I said, “one that wasn't a common fetish, but an
especially bad one.”

“That
dagger that tossed you was worse,” said the soft voice.

“Now, can
you remove your horses so we can get that buggy unstuck?” I asked,
as I looked at Korn.

'Unsticking'
Korn's buggy proved easy once he'd unhitched the horses, and as Hans
did the same with the gray and the black, I noticed Korn hitching his
to the center 'pole' of his vehicle. I went out to him and spoke of
retrieving the weapons I had piled next to the witch-area, and while
he left toward that place, I went back to where the other buggy was
stuck.

“This one
will need all of us pushing on the rear wheels,” I said.

“That
will not work,” said Hans. “We will need bulls in here to pull
it out.”

“No,
Hans,” said Anna. “We might need bulls if all four wheels were
up to their hubs.”

“Collect
some sticks, then,” I said, “and put them in back of those front
wheels.”

Hans seemed
balky, but Anna took him in charge. They both came back a minute or
so later, and as I put the sticks under the wheels on the back side,
Hans looked and scratched his head. He then asked, “now what will
that do?”

“It will
help get the buggy out,” I said. “I've done things like this
before where I came from. Now get on the other rear wheel, and I'll
get on this side. Push when I tell you to.”

For some
reason, when I spoke of pushing, the buggy both backed up and slewed
badly to the right. I had been pushing on the left side.

“It is
out now,” said Hans, “though it is partly turned around.”

“Hans, he
pushed it out all by himself, almost,” said Anna. “Now we can
get it out into the road.”

While the
two of them did that, I went back onto the road and toward the place
where I had fought the witches. I was more than a little surprised
to see Korn still loading 'guns' of some kind. He'd loaded the sword
already, or so I guessed. I had put it point-first into soft ground.

“I piled
the good stuff by the side there,” I said. “Did you get that?”

“You only
got a third of what they had,” said Korn, “and all four of those
witches have gone rotten.” Korn paused, then said, “I wished I
could say that for the mules.”

“Did they
go somewhere?” I asked.

“I think
they left of their own accord,” said Korn, “as I found no
footprints beyond the ones the witches left.”

“At least
they're gone, then,” I said. “I was afraid I would need to shoot
and burn those things, and I'm glad I don't have to...”

I stopped
in mid-sentence, for the heads of the witches had all been spiked on
carved wooden poles, and that in a line. Their skulls were rapidly
becoming free of all flesh – it was dropping to the ground in small
pieces as I watched – and as I looked at Korn, he said, “I didn't
touch them. Did you spike the heads?”

“N-no,”
I said. “I removed them, but I didn't spike them. I don't
recall why I did, for some reason.”

“What,
you don't know why you did that?” asked Korn.

“They all
tried to kill me,” I said, “and they weren't inclined to quit. I
stopped three of them, and that on top of two of them shooting the
others. Beyond that, I'm not terribly sure – Oh, now I remember.
I remember speaking to them of Brimstone.”

“Did you
tell them to sup with that thing?” asked Korn.

I nodded.

“I
thought so,” he said, as he resumed the seat of his buggy. “Get
in back, and I can give you a ride.”

As Korn
drove up the road, I examined what he'd put in the buggy. I
discovered that he'd had no qualms about rifling the witches'
pockets, and the plunder included a number of discomfiting things,
including several bulging sacks of money. I was glad to jump out
when he stopped.

“Now we
can go to where those roots are,” said Anna.

The end of
the woodlot was another quarter mile or so, and when we came to the
end of it, I had to again remind the others to walk while leading the
buggy. Hans seemed especially obdurate, for some reason, and only
with Anna's help did he dismount.

“Now how
are we going to get this thing back in there?” he said. “There
is no one to drive it, so it will not go.”

“No,
Hans,” said Anna. “Let him lead them in. He did that
with the bark, remember?”

I led in by
the reins for some three hundred yards, and as I did, I could feel
something in the area. It was almost as if the witches had
known about this patch of plants beforehand and had assayed cursing
it – and for some reason, the curses hadn't done much.

“They
didn't do much to the plants,” I thought. “They might well keep
others away.”

“Other
witches, mostly,” said the soft voice. “The plants are
unaffected, and I would harvest all of them.”

“All of
them?” I asked.

“The
witches will kill any plants you leave,” said the soft voice.
“Those that came after you would have done that later today had you
not killed them.”

“I heard
that,” said Anna. “Are there more witches at that town?”

“There
might be,” I said, “but after what happened, I'm not inclined to
go close to that place.”

“Why,
what did you do?” asked Anna.

“I had to
fight four witches and kill them,” I said, “and somehow, the
heads got spiked without me doing anything of the sort.”

I then
looked at my sleeve, and to my surprise, Anna came up next to me.
She looked at the cut place, felt it with her finger, then shook her
head.

“At least
those are easy enough to mend,” she said. “Did one of them cut
you?”

“One of
them just missed my arm,” I said, “and I was shot at enough to
wonder why I wasn't hit.”

“What
were they using?” asked Anna.

“Three
fowling pieces, a roer, a sword, and several pistols,” I said.
“The pistols were like Hieronymus' before I worked on it, and they
misfired more than once.”

Anna began
muttering, and as I looked to my right – I expected to see
rune-curses carved into the trees – I said, “now what?”

“Those
usually don't do that,” said Anna.

I could
feel the plants ahead, and when I looked again to my right, I saw
'fresh' crude-looking markings cut into the trunks of the trees.
Their appearance – I wasn't certain if they were actual runes, even
if the resemblance was definite – was such that I suspected
the plants to be in the area, and I dropped the reins as I left for
the edge of the trees. I could now feel the presence of the
plants nearby, and as I looked carefully for the small shoots amid
the duff of the forest floor, I wondered if I would have to do all
of the looking and actually 'find' the plants.

“Here
they are,” said Anna's abrupt voice to my left. “This isn't that
big of a plot, but I'm glad it's here just the same.”

I was at a
complete loss as to the means of 'root-harvesting', and while the
other three dug up the plants with knives and what might have been
spoons, I wondered aloud as to what I could do.

“I'd
watch out for trouble,” said Anna. “We'll take this road back
and stay away from that town with the witches.”

“Would
dealing with those people have an effect?” I asked.

“That
depends,” said Hans. “If they were running the place, it is
likely that it will be better for the town if they are dead.”

“That one
Public House?” I asked. “Should I, uh, burn it?”

“I did
not think of that,” said Hans. “It had bad stuff in it, so you
might.”

“And that
one house on the end?” I asked. “And the Mercantile?” There
were other places beyond those I had named, though I wasn't certain
as to their names or precise locations. I simply knew they were
there in the town.

“That is
much of a town there,” said Hans. “If it is bad like that, then
maybe the whole place should be burned.”

“A whole
town?” I gasped.

“If it
were possible to do that with the Swartsburg, I'd do it, and be glad
of it,” said Hans. “That place is a lot smaller.”

“But I
can't just burn a town,” I said.

“You
didn't take your oath yet, did you?” asked Anna. “If that oath
is like I've heard, then you could burn that place. You had
five witches try for you, and that's enough for a big
burn-pile.”

“What?”
I gasped.

“I think
that what Anna said is true,” said Hans. “Now did you say that
oath?”

“N-no,”
I said. “I doubt anyone in that class has said it.”

A few
minutes later, Hans brought a sizable mud-stained cloth sack tied
shut with a piece of string. He put it in the buggy, then said,
“come to think of it, I think you might not need to take an oath.
What you did at the third ditch may have substituted for it.”

“N-no,”
I sobbed. “I cannot just b-burn a town.”

Yet as the
minutes progressed, I knew something had to be done, at least
to that one house and the Public House. Both had demonstrated
themselves to be owned by witches, and their presence was a curse
upon the whole area – and with the witches dead...

“No, some
of the witches,” I thought. “There are others there, and
they'll cause trouble if I try.”

“They'll
do that regardless,” said the soft voice. “If you try to
burn the place, do it alone and after dark.”

“Alone
and after d-dark?” I thought.

“That
town is closer to the Swartsburg than where Maarten and Katje live,”
said the soft voice, “and going back through it in the daytime
would be very unwise.”

“Uh,
well-hid witches?” I asked.

“Them,
misers and supplicants,” said the soft voice. “Most of the
honest people have left, and
those few that remain will leave very soon.”

“And
those five?” I asked.

“They'll
be replaced within a few weeks,” said the soft voice. “Deaths in
witchdom are not rare.”

We finished
with the roots about an hour later, and as I led the buggy around and
back onto the 'trail' I had made, Anna was walking next to me. She
seemed pensive, for some reason.

“I heard
some of what was said,” said Anna, “and if that place is like the
Swartsburg for witches, then after dark might be best. I wonder why
you would need to go alone, though.”

“Uh, less
trouble?” I asked. “Until I disposed of that thing Hans had, all
of you were causing trouble to some degree at least some of the time,
and none of you were able to help me. It was like some of those
times at the shop.”

I was glad
the trip back went rapidly, and once home, we all took our 'supplies'
down into the basement. I put the 'witch-plunder' in a corner for
examination, which I began doing while the others began washing and
then further trimming the roots. Three muddy bags looked to take a
while, especially given their substantial size.

Unlike that
first roer, this one was not a flintlock, and when I tried fitting
one of the balls I had saved, it would not fit in the bore.
Examination with a gage showed its bore to be nearly an eighth of an
inch smaller, and when I began cleaning its barrel with spit and
tallow, the first few batches showed not merely a substantial
accumulation of dirt and soot, but also traces of rust.

“Now what
is it you will do with that thing?” asked Hans as I began
dismounting the roer's lock.

“I think
I will hide it somewhere,” I said. “I do not plan
on firing it.”

Hans
picked up one of the fowling pieces, then said, “I was never able
to find one of these for sale, and now you have three of them.”

“Are
those things any good?” I asked.

“These
are from the fifth kingdom,” said Hans, “so they are not as good
as some. I think you might be able to improve them some, is what I
think, and then they will be good for birds and rats.”

“No
s-shot on game birds?” I asked. “Birds need b-balls?”

“Whoever
said that did not hunt for those things much,” said Hans. “Shot
works decent on quolls and fool-hens, if you are close enough, and
the same for those wild pigeons that like to eat crops. Turkeys,
those are different, as they are difficult to find and harder yet to
get close to. They usually want balls.”

“M-marmots?”
I asked. “Didn't that one farmer speak of them ignoring shot?”

“That one
did,” said Hans. “Not all of them do. He might not have been
close enough when he put that shot in it.”

“B-both
barrels, and full loads?” I asked, as I recalled the chief
stonemason and the comments made regarding him.

While Hans
had nothing else to say at that time, Anna came by but a minute
later. She was muttering.

“I'm glad
those people are finally finishing up in back,” she said.

“Those
p-people?” I asked. “Who?”

“Those
masons,” said Anna. “That man with the beard must have as much
stone in his head as in his quarries, if I go by his behavior.”

“Bathing?”
I asked. I hoped the bathroom would be ready soon. The basement
wasn't a good place to bathe.

“It
should be ready within a few days,” said Anna. “I'm glad they're
no longer leaving their jugs around when they leave for the day.”

“Uh,
why?” I asked, as I dismounted the lock's mainspring. It felt
'weak', which did not surprise me. I suspected I would need to make
a new one, as was usual for weapons I worked on.

“I was
dosing those jugs with uncorking medicine every evening,” said
Anna. “Every jug they left got a small measuring cup.”

“What?”
I gasped. The stonemasons did not seem to be constipated.

“Those
people were as full of themselves as any I have seen,” said Anna,
“and once I started dosing them, they were less so.” Anna
paused, then said, “I think you had best hide those guns until
they're finished here.”

“Why?”
I asked. “Will they try to use them on, uh, you?” The lock was
nearly in pieces, and I would need to bag its parts and screws. I
hoped I could 'improve' it with minimal new parts beyond those I had
already noted.

“Every
time Sarah has come recently,” said Anna, “she has wanted to
shoot those people, and only the lack of weapons ready to hand has
prevented her from doing so.”

“That is
so,” said Hans from across the room, “as she has wanted to try
that musket of his on that man with the beard.”

“Ooh!”
I shrieked. “She'd be hurt if she tried shooting it.”

“Until I
heard from Karl, I doubted that would be the case,” said Anna.
“Besides, we have to keep ours put up also.”

“Does she
find them especially annoying?” I asked.

Anna
muttered for a few seconds, then blurted, “those people were
annoying when they were doing well!”

“And the
rest of the time?” I asked gently.

“They
were trouble,” muttered Anna. “One of them tried for her once.”

“What?”
I squeaked.

“She
thumped him with a shovel,” said Anna. “He didn't bother her
after that.”

“Was
he..?”

“He had a
big lump on his head,” said Anna, “and the shovel was damaged.
It was his shovel, so I'm not too concerned.”

With the
roer dismantled and its deficiencies noted, I began cleaning the
'shotguns'. I suspected that the same situation would apply to their
locks as did the roer, and hence I merely cleaned and oiled them.
Once they were finished, I went to the revolvers.

Those had
more than powder residues in their cylinders and bores; they had
plentiful amounts of 'dirt' and 'congealed grease' in and on them,
and when I stripped one of them entirely, I noted not merely poor
workmanship and 'bad' parts, but also accumulations of dirt and
hardened grease 'gumming the works'. After a quick brushing with
boiled distillate, I reassembled them one by one and then put them
aside.

Finally, I
went over the sword. A brief glance showed a superficially 'good'
finish – it was shiny – with numbers of 'secret markings'
with plentiful – and sizable – cracks radiating out from
each such marking in all directions. A file on the edge spoke of a
'full-polish wrench' level of hardness, and I wrapped it in rags and
put it next to the roer. Unlike the huge musket – I could think of
possible uses for that weapon – the sword only made sense as a
portion of a furnace charge once it had been taken apart. It
was barely holding together as it was.

“How was
I able to slice those thugs with that thing?” I thought.

“Be glad
there were only four of them that needed killing that way,” said
the soft voice. “Had you swung on a fifth neck, that blade would
have shattered like glass.”

After
visiting the privy, I went to where the others were working. The
three of them were sitting on stools around a cloth-covered table,
and all three were carefully peeling and trimming the
'strange-looking scallions'. I looked closer at one of the 'cleaned'
roots, and picked it up.

The sense I
had was of something almost bursting with 'medicine', and as I
examined the eight-inch long root, I noted its 'knots', its scales,
and its thin covering 'membrane'. I thought to begin loading the
extractor's basket with the cleaned pieces.

After
unclamping the three pieces, I took the basket over to where the
cleaned roots were, and began dicing the roots up into small pieces
with my knife. I could almost taste the extreme bitterness of
the medicine they contained, and as I carefully 'stacked' the pieces
in the basket, Hans paused to look at me.

“Now that
is a good job,” he said. “How are you putting them in that
basket?”

“The cut
ends running up and down,” I said. “I'll sprinkle some salaterus
between each layer.”

“Now why
is it you are doing that?” asked Hans.

“So as to
get more of the cut pieces in there,” I said, “that, and it will
help with the extraction. That will need to happen at least twice,
and three times in total would be better still.”

It took
roughly twenty minutes to finish loading the basket, and after
filling the bottom portion with diluted aquavit and the top portion
with water, I clamped the extractor together and put it on a stand
with a turned-down heating lamp underneath. I felt the clamps begin
tightening within less than a minute.

“It
should need about an hour for the first run,” I said, “and then
we can put fresh aquavit in the bottom and do the second run, then
the third run after. The runs will need combining to get the maximum
yield.”

“What is
that thing?” asked Korn.

“That is
an extractor,” said Hans. “It works better than those big things
in the fourth kingdom, and is a lot safer.”

“I hope I
can get one of those, then,” said Korn.

“I should
be able to start on one soon,” I said. “These don't need
especially close watching.”

I went
upstairs, and as I came into the kitchen, I had a strange feeling
about that 'medal' that Hans had taken. The whole 'question-session'
had seemed too 'pat', with too-easy responses to my questioning, and
when I came to the workbench, I was astonished to find the wire next
to the drawplates and special 'locking' pliers. I began filing one
of the ends of the wire so as to draw it through the first aperture
of the series.

“And I'll
need six steps, with annealing and pickling between the steps,” I
thought. I then looked at the size of the coil and at the size of
the parlor, and I suddenly understood. I needed to do the
drawing at the shop, much as I needed to do the bulk of the remaining
work on the sword there anyway. I began packing up its pieces in
clean rags as I heard steps coming from the basement stairs.

“We're
all about due for a nap,” said Anna, “and Hans blew out that
heating lamp. That stuff should keep for an hour or so.”

“And
Korn?” I asked.

“He is
taking a nap downstairs,” said Hans, as he came up the steps.
“That is a good drive to where he lives, and I turned off that
lamp, so it will not cause trouble.”

I then
realized I needed a nap myself, and when I lay down in bed, I fell
deeply asleep almost immediately, and when I awoke, I was shocked to
see a darkened window. Looking at the outside spoke of it being past
sundown, and when I came down the stairs, I wondered as to the
others.

They were
all downstairs working on the remaining roots. There weren't that
many left to clean, with two of the bags empty and mounded in a pile.

“Th-the
lamp?” I asked.

“I ran it
for another turn of the glass when we started,” said Hans, “and
it finished an hour ago, so it should be ready for its second time.”

As I undid
the clamps, I marveled at the 'plant' smell that was coming from the
bottom portion, and when I decanted the quart or so material into a
round-bottom flask, I was astonished at the yellowish-green color of
the liquid. I refilled the bottom portion of the extractor, clamped
it up, and then set it back to running.

“That
stuff looks strange there,” said Hans. “I have never had it come
out that color before, and never that strong-looking, either.”

“I think
he was right, Hans,” said Anna. “Now what will you do with
that?”

“A little
oil of vitriol?” I asked. “Perhaps some from that jug I
got?”

Hans
fetched me a small and acridly fuming vial some minutes later, and
after putting twenty drops of 'acid' in another vial half-filled with
water, I started adding drops of dilute acid with a dropping tube.
Each drop caused a distinct trail of 'clear' to billow down through
the liquid in the flask, and as I added the drops one at a time, I
heard faint scratching noises coming from the table. Someone was
writing, and not on a slate.

“How much
did you dilute that acid?” asked Korn.

“A
half-full smaller medicine vial of boiled water, and twenty drops of
the acid,” I said. “You add it drop by drop to the flask until
the color goes completely out of the liquid.” I paused, then said,
“normally, I would add all three runs and do this at the end, but
we're short of glassware right now.”

“Yes,
with that bark needing running,” said Hans. “There is still a
lot of that stuff.”

“I hope
you are running it more than once,” I said. “Is that why the
glassware is in use so much?”

“Yes, it
is settling,” said Hans. “I use the weaker stuff in the
extractor so as to strengthen it.”

“And then
boil off the remainder so as to retrieve the alcohol?”

“I never
thought of that,” said Hans. “I just let the stuff set out and
dry, like I always did.”

“You can
boil off some of the alcohol,” I said, “though direct heat isn't
a good idea, and you'll need to watch it carefully. You'll save a
lot of alcohol that way – that, and time.”

Hans did
not believe me, so much so that I had to demonstrate carefully what I
meant once I'd gotten the first batch of extract 'cleared'. I had to
move the evaporative trays off of the sand bath, then begin running
the 'distillation'.

“Now that
is strange,” said Hans, as he came to my side. “Why are you
running that stuff into that water there?”

“You can
redistill that water,” I said. “I would run it separately from
the usual batches, and label it as 'fuel' use, just in case. I would
feel terrible if someone made it into Geneva and became sick.”

By the time
I had reduced the volume of liquid in the flask by half, the
extractor had its second load cooling, and Hans jugged the
water-alcohol mixture I had distilled off. I continued boiling some
of the fever-bark extract until the extractor was ready to reload
with its third charge of liquid.

It was
'bedtime' by the time the three extractions had run, and I had needed
to add more acid each time, as well as boil off more alcohol. The
remaining liquid had a distinct whitish cast, and when I poured it
out into a pan to evaporate, I was astonished to find a thick coat of
crystals adhering to the inside of the flask. Only by adding more
water could I dissolve them.

“That
never happened before,” said Hans. “What do you think it will
do?”

“That pan
will have a good deal more than you usually get from a whole season's
gathering,” I said. “You won't run short of that drug
this year.”

I surmised
Korn would stay the night, and I was proved right when I went down
the stairs during the evening to use the privy. He was sleeping on
the couch, and as I went downstairs to the basement to check on the
drying crop of crystals, I wondered as to when he would actually
leave.

The water
level had dropped markedly, and the entire pan was lined with a thick
crop of crystals. I suspected it would be 'dry' by morning. I
returned to bed.

The
breakfast table was crowded with four people, and when breakfast
finished, I went downstairs with Hans so as to 'prepare' him for the
sight of a large 'crop' of medicine. Hans looked at the pan in what
resembled shock.

“What is
all of this?” he said.

“That
medicine,” I said. “You should get another three or four batches
this size, if I go by the number of cleaned roots I saw last night.”
I paused, then said, “you'll want to dry the crystals the rest of
the way in the kitchen, as it's warmer there, and then package them
in several small crocks, each of them with a wax seal for the cork.”

“What is
this?” asked Hans.

“Corks
that large tend to fit poorly,” I said. “A wax candle rubbed on
the edge of the crock will help the seal, and the medicine will
retain its potency better.”

I was able
to resume work on the sword after church, and once in the shop with
changed clothing and my apron, I worked with a will. I suspected
Georg had been busy on the rest-day, and the increased height the
slate-stack made it obvious he had been out getting orders.

As breaks
from the sword, I set up the boring and rifling jig, and I used the
board I'd made for Black-Cap's musket as a rifling-guide. I thought
to 'ream' one of the musket barrels, and was surprised – both at
how easy it was to turn and advance the reamer, and how readily the
barrel cleaned up. The barrel I tried only needed a single pass,
unlike previous instances.

“Those
others must have been done worse, or they had a lot of rust and
corrosion,” I thought, as I returned to drawing the silver wire.
“This stuff is easier than I thought it would be, too.”

Heat-treating
the sword made for trepidation and prayer, and the thick billowing
smoke of a fat-quench drove me coughing out of the shop. I blocked
the front door open, and when I went out into the street, the thick
gray billows coming from the roof seemed especially 'potent'. It was
almost like visiting an oracle of some kind to see the stuff slowly
dissipating as the soft wind blew it away.

The blade
cleaned up readily on the buffing wheel, and after 'mudding' it, I
put it next to the forge. The telltale temper colors took some few
minutes to show, and after dousing it with water, I scraped the mud
into the mud-bucket. I then took it back to the buffing wheel.

The blade
had curved slightly during the quench and tempering process, and as I
carefully polished it, I noted the wavy lines of the pattern-welding
beginning to show more and more, while the lighter area where the mud
was seemed to stand out especially well. After a few minutes, it was
time for the straps, and from that point, carefully wiping the blade
with boiled distillate and then wrapping it in rags.

I left an
hour before sundown with my 'bag of tricks', and once home, I began
assembling the sword. The softly gleaming blade seemed to shine with
a strange and ghostly 'light', and as I began fitting the hilt to the
tang, I heard steps to my right.

“What did
you do to that thing?” asked Anna.

“I
hardened and tempered it,” I said. “I never did anything that
big with that steel before, and I was praying the whole time.”

“It
curved more,” said Anna.

“I
suspected it would,” I said. “It's just about right, in fact.”

“What
else do you need to do?” asked Anna.

“Fit the
hilt, like I'm doing here,” I said, “then put on the handle
pieces and pommel, and then wrap the handle with twisted silver wire.
I'll sharpen it then.”

“Why are
you using silver?” asked Anna.

“Uh, no
verdigris,” I said. “If your hand gets cut, silver is less
likely to cause an infection.”

“I
thought so,” said Anna. “Some might look at that as decorative.”
Anna paused, then said, “now what is this v-v-v... I cannot say
that word.”

“The
greenish corrosion that forms on brass,” I said. “I've heard it
tends to cause infections.”

“It
does,” said Anna. “That's why no one in their right mind uses
brass anything around wounds.”

“I'll be
certain to speak of that when people ask questions,” I said. “I'll
need to go to the house tomorrow morning, and I guess I'll need to
leave at first light.”

“That
would be wise,” said Anna. “I'll let Georg know where you went
should he ask.”

At dinner
that night, I recalled my 'lessons', and for the space of an hour or
more I spoke of what had been preached earlier that day, as well as
'sums'. Anna looked about ready for 'long division', or so I thought
until I tried her with the following problem:

She
nearly tossed the slate after the first portion.

“No,
dear,” I said calmly. “First find the largest multiple that will
go into the top number, like this.” Here, I wrote 210, then thirty
to its side to remind me. “That leaves fifty-three, and forty-nine
goes into fifty three.”

“Forty-nine?”
asked Anna.

“Yes,
dear,” I said soothingly. I could tell it helped. “Seven times
seven is forty-nine. So, that leaves four for a remainder.” I
paused, then said, “now, add thirty and seven, put it on the top,
and then 'R 4' to indicate what remains.”

As Anna
wrote what I spoke of, I could feel a degree of tension that was
unlike her, and I stopped the lesson but minutes later. I then
resumed my labor on the sword.